


Weep To Break the World

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Dragon 'Verse [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragons, M/M, Magical Creatures, Pre-Slash, alternative universe, transformations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: An A/U riff on Pilot, where Neal is not successful in his attempt to break out of prison. Peter goes to Sing-Sing to deal with the fallout. It is, once more, the start of a very beautiful friendship.





	1. Prologue

_There are many myths and stories about dragons. Not that they are creatures of mystery, of legend. No, dragons are real. Everyone knows that. Everyone's seen them flying overhead, as big as the biggest passenger airplanes, and just as fast._

_The dragons are feared as much as they're loved, and that's why there are so many stories about them._

_One of the oldest, and the most untrue, is that dragons don't cry – that they feel no mortal emotions. That's where the sayings come from, "As rare as dragon's tears." Or a newscaster, reporting on some politician's fake attempts at expressing sympathy for the downtrodden, might say he was "crying dragon's tears."_

_But dragons do feel, they do cry. And when that happens, the world can shatter._


	2. Grief, Unbearable

"Burke, my office." Peter looked up from his consultation with young Clinton Jones, and Hughes could see that Peter was annoyed by the command. At least he hadn't added his usual double finger point to the summons. Hughes knew the gesture was slightly humiliating, but it was extremely effective on the rank and file. Not that Peter Burke was rank and file in any respect.

No, Peter was his most senior agent; he was Kin, and a Dracon as prideful as he was intelligent. In Human eyes, he appeared several decades older than Peter, and to those short-lived and fragile creatures, those decades were significant. But not to their own kind. Draconis measured their lives in centuries, not decades. Peter was no youngling – not like Jones or Berrigan.

But despite Peter's age, a mere hundred or so less than his own, Hughes was worried about him.

He waited for Peter to come upstairs and go into his office. He shut the door and not for the first time regretted the fragile glass walls. Some foolish Human designer thought they promoted the image of transparency and accountability in the FBI. Which was fine, except in a division where almost all of the agents were Draconis, and two of them – him and Peter – were older than the country which they served. 

Dracon sub-vocalizations – especially those of older Draconis – could shatter even the thickest, most tempered glass as if it were a hummingbird's eggshell. Strong emotions could wreak havoc, too. In the last five years, Hughes had all of the walls replaced at least a dozen times. It was getting expensive. He didn't want to think about the time that Peter and Ruiz got into it and blew out every window on the twenty-first floor.

"What's the matter?" Peter didn't take a seat; he just stood against the wall, arms across his chest.

"I'm concerned." Hughes wasn't the type of man to mince words. "About you."

Peter knew just what he was talking about. But he stood there, arms folded across his chest and doing his best imitation of a stone gargoyle. "I'm fine."

Hughes didn't believe him. "You've been telling me that for almost three years. And it's only getting worse."

Peter snapped back, "And since when is three years a long time?" 

It wasn't to the Draconis, but they did live in the mortal world. "I know it sounds cruel, but it's long enough, Peter, in this world, in this role. You need to deal with it and move on." Hughes sighed, knowing that he was blundering into difficult territory, but he had his reasons. Good reasons, but he probably should have chosen his words with more care.

"Move on? An agent – a friend – is dead, you're asking me to just let that go?"

"No, of course not. And I'd challenge anyone who wanted to mark this as a cold case. But your grief, Peter – it's destroying you."

Peter stalked over to the window and Hughes could feel the escalating vibrations of Peter's emotions. So he tried to diffuse the situation. "Maybe we should have had this conversation someplace a little less fragile?"

Peter turned back, a faint smile on his face. "Sorry. It's just …" He shook his head. "I know it's been three years, but I still have no answers. It's a wound that won't heal. You have to know what it's like to lose something precious. Something that belongs to you."

Hughes understood what Siegel's death meant to Peter; he was Dracon, after all. "And that's why I'm worried about you. You can't escape the loss while you're here. You need to take some time away. Go see Elizabeth. Maybe she can help you through this."

"My clan chief is a wise and beautiful Dracon, but she can't help me with this. I still need answers, Reese. I need to know what happened. Then maybe I can have some peace." Peter visibly tried to relax.

"There were no witnesses, Peter. We don't even know what Siegel was doing there in the first place. Maybe we'll never find out." Hughes immediately knew those words were a mistake. And perhaps something of a lie. 

"I can't accept that. He was an FBI agent, he was mine!" The very air became thick with Peter's distress. The walls started to vibrate.

**"Arash k'vark!"** _Calm yourself!_ Hughes' order, in the ancient tongue, sent the light fixtures flickering, but that was a small inconvenience against shattered walls and windows.

Peter obeyed, and the glass settled back into its solid state. "Sorry." Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe I do need to go away for a while. My control is … not what it should be."

Hughes nodded. "I have to tell you that you are dangerously close to crossing a line you can't come back from."

"I know, I know – but …" 

"No buts, Peter." There was a time for sympathy and a time for command. "You're on leave for a month, starting tomorrow. You have the rest of the day to sort out your cases among your agents and then you're off. Go to the mountains. Shed this skin, ride the sky, find your control again."

Peter looked like he was about to argue, but Hughes held up a hand. "I'm serious, Peter. It's for your own good. You're too important to lose, too."

Peter finally sat down, his posture one of acceptance and defeat.

Satisfied that Peter would comply with his order, Hughes picked up his pen and was about to sign off on the forms the Human bureaucrats required – the ones that would authorize Peter's leave – when Peter's probationary agent knocked on the door. 

Through the glass, Hughes could read the troubled expression on her face, and he gestured for her to enter. "What's the matter?"

She handed him the file, but spoke to Peter. "Neal Caffrey tried to escape this morning."

Peter looked up, puzzled. "What? Why would he do that? He's got just three months left on a four year sentence."

Trust Peter to know exactly how long Caffrey had been in prison and how much time he had left on his sentence.

"Don't know, boss. But a guard at Sing-Sing caught him just as he was walking out the front door. He'd gotten hold of a guard's uniform, correct down to the boots, and recoded a magnetic key to get through the check points. Caffrey would have made it out the front gate but someone noticed that he was missing the one thing you couldn't buy online – a badge. Someone stopped him, and all hell broke loose."

"Caffrey? That doesn't make any sense. He's as non-violent as they come." Peter looked at him for confirmation. 

Hughes had to agree. "The man hates guns, hates the thought of hurting people – at least in a non-financial sense. We know he walked away from a half-dozen high profile, high-stakes jobs because of the potential for collateral damage."

Diana didn't disagree. "Look at the file, sir. It's not what you'd expect."

Hughes did just that. His shock blew the light bulb in his desk lamp. **"K'vfarl Caffrey um-Dracon!"**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter didn't know what surprised him more: his old friend's loss of control or the news that Neal Caffrey, master forger, thief and all-around con artist, was one of their kin. He brushed off the shards of glass that decorated his tie and held out his hand for the file.

The warden's notes were telling. 

_  
_

Neal Caffrey, Prisoner 05-1207-93451-A, was apprehended on October 23 as he attempted to escape from Sing-Sing Penitentiary via the main gate. As Caffrey was subdued, he began to transform into a dragon. Lt. William Halbend administered a dose of No-Flight into the prisoner's carotid artery and halted the transformation. Caffrey has been transferred to a secure subterranean holding pending transfer to more appropriate penal facilities. 

He remains in an unconscious state. 

Lt. Halbend will be cited for bravery in the line of duty. He sustained minor injuries when Caffrey began his transformation.

It should be noted that Neal Caffrey has never been identified as a dragon and has been a model prisoner since commencing incarceration. Caffrey's associates have been interviewed and no one was aware of any reason why he would try to escape.

_  
_

Peter was mildly amused at that last sentence. Did the warden actually expect any of the inmates to admit that they were aware of Caffrey's plans? But that was the least of his concerns.

"Caffrey, a Dracon." Reese just shook his head. "How the hell did we miss that?"

"We didn't miss it. I knew everything about Neal Caffrey, from the moment he was born until I slapped the cuffs on him. His father's crimes, his mother's collapse, his time in WitSec, his shoe size, his favorite brand of condoms, and what he liked to eat for breakfast the morning before a big heist."

Diana suggested, "Maybe he's a sport? Or maybe James Bennett wasn't his father. We don't even know if Caffrey was aware of his bloodline." Diana shuddered delicately at the idea of living such a life of ignorance.

"Anything's possible, but I don't like this. I don't like that there are Draconis unaccounted for in the Book of Fire. I don't like that Neal Caffrey is Kin and he's spent nearly four years in prison."

"Peter – do I need to remind you that you're about to go on leave?" Reese sounded stern, but Peter could hear him giving up on the order. This was too delicious a challenge, and if there was anyone who was going to sort out the mystery of Neal Caffrey, Dracon, it would be him. 

And only him. 

Diana just stood there, a smirk on her lips, as if she knew his plans.

"My leave is cancelled. At least until I get this sorted out."

"You mean, until you get Caffrey sorted out. And let me also remind you that the last time you tried that, you chased him for three years."

Peter felt something he hadn't realized had been missing since David's death: a burst of barely leashed anticipation, the joy of the hunt, the utter fascination that came with having a new puzzle to solve. He was almost out the door before he realized it. 

Reese stopped him with a gentle inquiry. "Peter?"

Peter grinned. "I'll keep you informed."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bound and contained in a windowless cell with walls of steel and stone, Neal Caffrey dreamed of flight. And Kate.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

There were few times that Peter resented the strictures put on his kind who were FBI agents. He could have been in Ossining in a half-hour, maybe less, if he could have shed this mortal skin and flown. But there were rules, and while he'd spent much of the past twenty years paying lip service to many of them, there was one he couldn't break and keep his badge: No Dracon could show its true form and remain an FBI agent.

It wasn't the FBI, but the Dracon clan leaders – the most ancient of the Kin – who had made that rule. The Humans – the "soft-skins" – in the Bureau knew about the Draconis in their ranks. Perhaps the tiny dragon lapel pins they all wore were a dead giveaway. 

The clan leaders were wise. Given Dracon strength and power and longevity, it would be too easy to abuse the soft-skins, and threaten them with fear. Too easy to break their laws and risk outright war. Breaking cover was deemed an absolute breach of discipline, whether you were the rawest probie or a highly decorated veteran agent. "Showing scales" in the line of duty meant you were out, for good. No exception, no excuse.

Peter knew he'd been riding the edge of his control for too long, ever since he saw David Siegel's blue eyes staring up, sightless, into a rain-dark sky, a bullet hole in his chest. 

The pain of David's death was complicated by guilt. He'd been the one to recruit David from the Bureau's Chicago office. He was a promising young agent, sharp and smart, and by the shards of his birth egg, he liked smart. It hadn't mattered to him that David was Human. David was _his_.

Oh, not in any tawdry sense. Peter knew better than to have sex with soft-skins. They were too fragile, too easily damaged. There were plenty of Draconis who enjoyed fucking Humans and Peter had had his share with soft-skins of both sexes, but he'd never been fully satisfied by such a limited type of sexual congress. It was okay if you had an itch, but it wasn't mating on the wing… 

No, he'd made David part of his personal hoard. David's life, his work, his honor, belonged to Peter. That someone took that from him before his Human shell wore out was an unthinkable crime. 

Peter took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. The FBI pool car he was using was dragon-hardened, but in this mood, he was strong enough to break iron.

He forced himself to stop thinking about David and the mystery of his death. He was going to see Neal Caffrey, a man as different from David Siegel as the sun was from the moon.

Well, not exactly. Caffrey was smart, as smart as Siegel. But not simply in the way that cunning criminals were smart. Neal Caffrey was profoundly intelligent, with the ability to see patterns and predict moves that was almost supernatural. Peter wondered, in hindsight, if it was because he was Dracon.

Peter tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited for the traffic to clear and wished, yet again, that he could simply fly to his destination. He reminded himself that he was older than the road. Older than the city. Older than this whole country, and he should be old enough to have the patience to wait a few moments for a light to change.

The traffic started to move and Peter turned north on the Henry Hudson. It was one of those beautiful autumn days that reminded him why he stayed amongst the soft-skins. They had their boats out on the river; their tall, gleaming buildings glowed like gems along the horizon. Some of them were his – he'd claimed them as part of his hoard – although it was unlikely that the occupants knew that. It didn't matter. He knew who they belonged to. Other Draconis in the area knew, and not one of them was brave enough to challenge him.

Except for the one who killed David Siegel.

Peter took a deep breath and deliberately turned his mind from that thought and back to Neal Caffrey.

Neal had come to his attention when a number of corporate bearer bonds began turning up at local banks. The bonds were old but still negotiable, and the banks cashed them, only to discover that they were forgeries. Peter had a dual interest in the case – as law enforcement and as a major shareholder in the company that purportedly issued those bonds. The amounts were negligible – less than a hundred thousand in total, and barely worth filing an insurance claim for – but the work that went into creating the forgeries was stunning. It captured Peter's imagination like no case had in a long time. 

Even now, thinking about Neal Caffrey and his crimes – his _alleged_ crimes – sent his pulse racing.

When he started tracking the bonds, he'd found Caffrey, and lost him in the same moment. Peter was patient. He was Dracon. The next three years were spent chasing rumors and gossip and leads that barely deserved the name. The chase was fun, and he was sad when it ended. With each near-miss, his respect for Caffrey had grown until it almost broke his heart when he finally caught him. 

But he did catch Neal and by the time he'd sprung his trap in a storage facility in Hoboken and arrested him, Peter was convinced that he needed to add this smart, clever Human to his personal hoard. 

Caffrey's lawyer was good and the only crime he was convicted of was the original bond forgery. Peter was okay with that. Caffrey was Human (or so he'd thought at the time) and he'd lose a part of his life to cold iron and colder concrete – Human penalties for Human justice. Once Caffrey's sentence was handed down, he put his personal seal on Caffrey's file. Four years – to a Dracon – was barely a blink of an eye. Once he got out, Peter would make good on his claim and that would be that. Caffrey was all but his.

He never told his Kin, or the FBI, of his plans. Caffrey was Human, and his place in Peter's hoard was no one's business but his own.

Then David happened and tragedy followed. Peter had all but forgotten about Caffrey. Now, though, it looked as if his rights to Caffrey were about to change. If the warden's report was accurate, there was no way he'd be allowed to either rot in prison or roam free. But making another Dracon part of his own personal hoard was not something undertaken lightly. 

Especially if that Dracon was Neal Caffrey.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	3. Discovery

Neal tried to roll over and escape the brightness. The lights automatically came on in the cell block at six in the morning, every damned day. Too bright, too early. He needed just a few more minutes sleep, if just to recapture the dream of flight.

But he couldn't roll over. He was tied down – there were straps over his chest, his hand and feet were shackled and the harder he fought, the tighter those shackles grew.

He stilled, and broken bits of memory came to him. Sneaking into the guards' john, shaving his scruffy beard, getting into the uniform, walking past the row of his fellow convicts, sweating hard into the dark blue shirt, knowing that if he made one wrong glance, took one wrong move, he'd be busted.

He'd made it through the three security gates and was out the door when disaster hit. That sadist, Halbend, who'd been after his ass since the day he'd arrived, recognized him. 

But what happened after was a blur. He remembered Halbend grabbing his arm; he remembered the fear that came with his unmasking, and then anger. A deep, uncontrollable rage like fire in his blood. He needed to get to Kate, and Halbend was in his way.

Neal remembered reaching for Halbend, and then, nothing.

He must have done something terrible to warrant this treatment. He must have hurt the man, and no matter what kind of sadist Halbend was, Neal was ill at the thought.

The remembered anger rolled through him again when he realized that his chance to find Kate was gone. He struggled against the bonds and felt them start to give way. Something, though, felt _wrong_. He didn't feel like himself – like this skin wasn't his. That it was too soft, too fragile, too small. Neal heaved against the bonds and heard the metal shriek.

"Now, now, none of that…" 

Neal couldn't see who spoke and he didn't recognize the voice. He kept fighting until he felt a sharp pinch, a different sort of burn in his blood. And then nothing…

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter wondered how someone as incompetent and ineffectual as Haskley became the warden for such a major prison as Sing-Sing. Or maybe he wasn't incompetent, just Human. Peter had always thought that running a prison should rightfully be a Dracon's job, with its ready-made, built-in hoard.

But that was irrelevant. He asked Haskley, "Why would Neal run with three months left on a four year sentence? Was he scared of something? Someone?"

Haskley shrugged. "Caffrey was – until this morning – a model prisoner. Hell, there wasn't a convict or guard on his cell block who didn't like him."

Peter gave the man a sharp look. "Like him?"

Haskley realized what he had implied. "No, not like that. No one touched Caffrey. That was made clear from the day he arrived. No – he got along with everyone. Wrote letters for a lot of the guys. Taught a bunch of GED classes. Organized some art therapy sessions. Hell, he'd even arranged for the local animal shelter to bring puppies and kittens in for the cons to play with once or twice a month."

Peter did his best to stifle a smile. That sounded just like Caffrey.

Haskley continued, "Everyone liked him. No one would lay a finger on him, even if he wasn't under … your _people's_ protection. He had no reason to run."

Which meant that Peter still had a mystery to solve. "I want to see his cell."

Haskley told Peter to follow him, not that he was in any position to deny Peter anything.

Caffrey's cell held no secrets. In fact, it was a mirror of the man he'd gotten to know so well. Meticulously neat, with artwork – most likely by his own hand – decorating the walls. A few books were on the bed and Peter picked one up. It was, of all things a collection of Rudyard Kipling's short stories. Not something he'd ever figured Caffrey reading, but then – why not? The bookmark was interesting – why would Caffrey be interested in a valet parking service at JFK? The other choice of reading material – a Chilton's manual for a 1978 Ford pickup – made more sense. Caffrey had probably been planning on hot wiring a vehicle.

He picked up a worn out razor and Haskley volunteered, "We found those with Caffrey's clothes in the staff john. He used it to shave his beard off."

Which didn't make sense to Peter. "Neal doesn't have a beard."

But apparently he did. Haskley took him to the cell block's security room and showed him. "The inmates are photographed every morning as they exit their cells."

Peter remarked, "I'd barely recognize him. But that's the point, isn't it? Caffrey gradually changes his appearance and you don't notice, so that when he radically changes it again, he can walk out the front door without anyone recognizing him. He was depending on your men's complacency. See a man in uniform, make an assumption, never look at the face." Peter was impressed. But then, he'd always been impressed by Neal.

Haskley disagreed. "Not everyone was taken in. We caught him before he escaped."

"We?"

The warden flushed at the derision in Peter's voice. "One of my top men did."

"Ah, right. That would be Lieutenant Halbend."

"Yes."

"I'd like to talk with him." Peter was curious about the one guard who saw through Caffrey's disguise. And he wanted to know just what had taken place right before Neal stopped shaving. He ordered, "Run the sequence back."

The technician reversed the playback. It was like watching a Human child's flipbook. It wasn't hard to pinpoint just when Caffrey let his grooming go to hell. 

"What happened on that date? Did he have any visitors?"

Haskley handed him the log.

Peter was a little surprised at the name in the book. "Kate Moreau."

"She was here, every week."

"Really?" The Kate he had investigated had spent the better part of two years hiding from Neal. At least until Peter had convinced her to be their stalking horse.

"She showed up every Sunday, like clockwork."

"Hmm." Peter flipped back through the log book and saw her name week in and week out. But when he turned the pages forward, the entry next to Caffrey's name was blank. For six weeks running. "Do you keep video of the visitors' room?"

The tech grunted. "We do. No audio though." 

Peter didn't need it, although he wished the resolution was better than the grainy black and white he was seeing. He said, mostly to himself, "She's not thrilled about this visit. Nor is Neal."

On the screen, Neal was pleading – holding up a hand against the partition wall. Kate was cold and determined, but there was something about her that made the scales under Peter's skin ripple with disgust. Even with the poor resolution, Peter could read the satisfaction in her eyes at Neal's emotional outburst.

This was the trigger point. But there was something else there.

"Run it again."

This time Peter focused on Neal Caffrey, on his reflection in the glass. "Stop. Go back a few seconds and then go frame by frame." The tech complied.

It was just an instant, but it told him everything he needed to know.

Neal Caffrey _was_ Dracon.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The dream of Kate receded. Neal could barely remember what she looked like, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand.

His world was filled with wings and blue sky and freedom.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter commandeered Haskley's office to interview Lieutenant William Halbend. He instinctively disliked the man. No Dracon could have warm feelings for anyone who carried hypos of No-Flight, a Human-invented drug that prevented Dracon transformation. But Peter was willing to withhold judgment. No-Flight was a strictly controlled substance and only front-line law enforcement were allowed to carry it. Peter told himself that Halbend had done his job.

And yet, from the moment that the prison guard came into the room, Peter despised him. A little rooster of a man, he wore his authority like a champion's belt. Peter was all too familiar with the type. But he had to go through with the interview. And besides, Hughes would be pissed if he "accidentally" ate the man.

Halbend stood at parade attention, his gaze going somewhere over Peter's left shoulder.

"Take a seat." 

Halbend refused. "I'd prefer to stand."

Peter wasn't going to get into a pissing contest. "Fine. Tell me about this morning."

Halbend clicked his teeth, clearly not liking the preemptory tone Peter was using. "I got up, took a crap and a shower, had a bowl of Cheerios, and reported for duty."

Peter sighed. He didn't have time for this. "This morning, when you recognized Neal Caffrey. What happened?"

"Oh, that's what you wanted to know." Halbend smirked. "Saw a guard come out of the block, didn't recognize him at first, but I noticed he had no badge on." Halbend tapped the gold shield on his chest. "Then I took a closer look and realized it was Caffrey. I'd been figuring that he was going to make a run for it sooner or later. His chickie hadn't come by in a few weeks and I could see he was getting desperate to get out. So I was on the look-out, you know." 

"You follow Neal Caffrey's doings?" That struck Peter as odd.

Halbend shrugged. "Yeah – he's a convict in my block. I'm just doing my job."

"Your vigilance is to be commended." Somehow, Peter doubted that Halbend knew if any other convict's visitors had stopped coming.

The guard gave him a smug look. "I believe the Warden mentioned something about a commendation."

"Yes, it's in his notes. You were injured?"

"Yeah, Caffrey started _changing_ when I grabbed him." Halbend held up a hand. There was a bandage across his palm. "The bastard's scales sliced me open."

"And yet you still managed to pump him full of No-Flight."

"I keep my wits about me. And I guess that gives _you_ the heebie-jeebies – the thought of getting stopped cold in your tracks like that. Or don't your kind feel that?" Halbend finally looked him in the eye.

Peter now understood the man's contempt. He'd bet every diamond in his hoard that Halbend was a member of HFHO – Humans First, Humans Only. If he pulled up the man's shirtsleeve, he'd probably find one tattoo proclaiming his absolute loyalty to the Human race and another that said "Death to Dragons". Hate groups like HFHO were a problem, but today, not his.

Peter dismissed Lieutenant William Halbend with a negligible wave of his hand, a gesture calculated to insult. He'd make his report and the prison guard would be taken care of.

Halbend left and Peter waited a few moments – he didn't want to run into the man again unless he had to. He checked his email, and amongst the two dozen items waiting for his attention, there was a message from Diana. She'd researched Neal's father and mother, his grandparents and great grandparents, but none of them were listed in the Book of Fire.

That troubled Peter more than he could say. It was possible that someone in Neal's lineage wasn't who they were supposed to be. Some Draconis did mate with Humans, and sometimes those Humans were fertile. It was rare, but not unheard of.

Or perhaps Neal Caffrey _wasn't_ Neal Caffrey. Maybe he wasn't the son of James Bennett and Elaine Bennett, nee Caffrey. He might be someone else altogether, and maybe everything that Peter thought he knew about Neal was a lie.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Time to wake up, Mr. Caffrey."

A voice broke through the dreams of endless flight. A hand slapped his face, and he opened his eyes. They were crusted over and refused to focus. All he could see was someone in a white lab coat standing over him. 

"You've got a visitor and we need to make you presentable."

Another pinch of an injection and Neal felt a little more alert. He blinked against the bright light and carefully moved his arms. Someone had released the shackles.

"Get dressed." The door opened to let in a guard and the med tech left.

The guard tossed a pile of orange fabric at him. Standard issue prisoner's clothing – little more than scrubs. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have been caught dead in anything less than bespoke tailoring. But that was … once upon a time.

He dressed, avoiding the guard's eyes. At least it was Bobby, who never treated him with anything less than respect. 

"I have a visitor?" It was too much to hope Kate had come back.

"Yeah, man. You caused quite a stir this morning. Guy's up from the city just for you."

_Ah, not Kate._ Neal slipped his feet into a worn pair of laceless sneakers. "Bobby? Did I … hurt anyone?"

Bobby huffed a laugh. "Nah, just gave that little pricklet, Halbend, a cut. He's going on about the Warden going to pin a medal on him. Don't you worry, though. We got your back."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't mention it."

Neal wondered who his visitor was, and why anyone from Manhattan would want to see him. And then he shrugged; he'd find out soon enough.

Bobby ushered him into a small room reserved for convicts meeting with their lawyers. No glass partition, no telephones. Just a glass wall from where guards could monitor the safety of the parties. He'd met Moz in this room once or twice, before his friend had left for more fertile hunting grounds. During the walk down, Neal wondered if that was his visitor.

But he was mistaken. Not his old friend, Mozzie, but Special Agent Peter Burke, who was standing under the window, glowing in the light like some angel of justice. 

"It's been a while."

"A few years, give or take."

"I guess, to your kind, those years don't really seem like much."

A small smile twisted on Burke's lips and Neal remembered how he'd once found the man almost irresistibly attractive. No, not man. Dragon. 

"It's been long enough."

Neal sat down at one of the tables. "Come on, you didn't make the trip all the way from Manhattan just to pass the time of day."

Peter joined him and dropped a folder on the table. "No, I didn't."

"I guess you got word."

"Yup. A few hours after it happened." Peter sighed and gave him a puzzled look. "I have to ask myself, what makes a smart guy like you pull a boneheaded stunt like trying to escape from a maximum security prison with only three months left to go on your sentence. And then I saw this." He opened the folder. There was a photo of Kate – a screen capture from their last meeting, when she walked out. When she told him she was done with him. When she broke something inside of him.

Neal sighed, his grief still raw. "It looks like you figured that out quickly enough."

Peter's compassion was unexpected. "Smart men have been doing stupid things for love for a very long time."

Neal flipped the folder closed. It hurt too much to look at her. "Yeah, that's me. Stupid."

Peter shook his head. "Not hardly, Neal. You're not stupid at all. I can understand what she means to you, why you did what you did."

"And it's going to buy me another four years here, isn't it?"

"Maybe. It's hard to predict what will happen. Not too many convicts try to bust out with so little time left. And then there was the incident with the guard. That's going to factor into things."

Neal didn't like the sound of that. He still didn't know why Peter was here, and Peter seemed in no rush to give him answers. And Neal was in no rush to go back to his prison cell. "Can I ask a question?"

Peter shrugged. "Sure. Don't know if I'll answer, though."

Neal chuckled. "Okay – I stepped right into that."

"Ask away."

Neal considered his words carefully. "I've always been curious about you."

Peter gave him a quizzical look. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You chased me for three years, you were relentless. Of course I wanted to know everything I could about my opponent."

"Okay. So what's your question, Caffrey?"

Neal took a deep breath and plunged in. "Why did you become an FBI agent? You're a dragon, you're probably a couple of hundred years old. Why involve yourself in petty human crimes?"

Peter smiled and Neal felt his bones warm. "What would you have me do? Sit in some mountain cave, perched upon my pile of gold and jewels?"

"You have a pile of gold and jewels?"

Peter laughed, the sound full of joy. "Maybe I do. You like that idea, don't you?"

"Yeah – who wouldn't?" Neal laughed. "But seriously, why? And why are there so many dragons in the FBI?"

Peter gave him a level look. "There are a lot of Kin in the FBI because it suits our temperament."

"Kin?"

"It's a more polite term we prefer to use with Humans. Better than 'dragon'."

"Isn't that what you call yourselves?"

"Not quite." Peter winced and Neal wondered what taboo he just broke. "Anyway, you want to know why we like working in the FBI?"

"Yeah, you said it 'suits your temperament'."

"Right. We are hoarders. The urge to hoard is our essential nature. Left unchecked, we can become … difficult with Humans."

Neal didn't need any further explanation of just what "difficult" meant. He knew his history. "Okay, but how does the FBI help with that?"

Peter was surprisingly forthcoming. "The training helps temper that urge. Being an agent channels it. We've found that the process of investigation, arrest, and imprisonment of wrong doers gives us the same satisfaction as collecting piles of gold and jewels."

Neal wasn't sure he believed Peter. How could you equate the pleasure of wealth with anything as nebulous as pursuing justice? But maybe Peter was telling the truth. Neal knew that there were a lot of dragons – _Kin_ – in the FBI. Mozzie, conspiracy theorist that he was, said that at least seventy percent of all active agents and almost ninety percent of the senior level management in the Bureau were "scales and tails".

"Why you, though? You don't strike me as someone who needs the discipline of a badge to temper your urges. You're what, two hundred years old?"

Peter chuckled, but this time the sound lacked humor. "You don't know me as well as you think you do, Caffrey. And the older we get, the stronger the urge is."

They sat in silence for a few moments and Neal digested this information. He also wondered what was going on in Peter Burke's brain. He was staring at him. Or rather, he seemed to be staring at something over his right shoulder. Neal turned, but Peter held up a hand, stopping him. He then reached out and plucked something off of Neal's shoulder and held it up.

Peter asked him, "Do you know what this is?" 

Neal looked at the object; it was shaped like a guitar pick, if guitar picks were made out of sapphires and gold and dusted with diamonds. Neal swallowed the urge to pluck it out of Peter's hand and secret it away. "One of your scales, Agent Burke?"

"No, Neal. One of yours."


	4. And So They Meet Again

When he ordered Haskley to bring Caffrey to him, Peter had only wanted to make certain that Neal wasn't suffering from any lasting harm. He'd seen the footage of Neal's encounter with Halbend, the early stages of his transformation, and then the vicious way that Halbend administered the No-Flight. His anger cracked glass when he saw how Neal, still unconscious but wholly in Human skin, was strapped into a mobile cage, steel bands cutting across his fragile body. He almost lost control when he read the medical report – that two additional doses of No-Flight were pumped into Neal to keep him "calm". No-Flight was supposed to be a last resort, not the first line response.

Those ignorant bastards could have killed Neal – and maybe that was what they had wanted. One less Dracon. Light bulbs shattered and the soft-skins ducked for cover as Peter's anger grew.

Depending on Neal's condition, the so-called medical staff might just not survive the afternoon.

Haskley, that ineffectual boob, hovered and muttered about how he was affecting staff morale and it would be best if he followed him to a secure interview room. Peter followed, anxious to see Neal's condition for himself.

What he found was surprising.

Neal certainly looked worse for wear, but he was alert and he understood the gravity of his situation, if not the reasons behind it. Which presented a problem. Peter had intended on taking Neal from Sing-Sing on the pretense that he was unable to care for himself, but that was clearly not the case. 

And given the undercurrent of anti-Dracon sentiment that wafted through the prison like a bad stink, he couldn't exercise hoard privilege and take Neal away, as much as he'd like to do just that. No, he would need to go through official channels. That would take time and, despite his nature, time was a precious commodity.

So he answered Neal's remarkably perceptive questions and planned on getting Neal out from under this burden with as little fuss and ceremony as possible.

But he spotted the scale clinging to Neal's shoulder, and quite possibly made one of the worst mistakes in his very long life.

"One of mine? Surely, Agent Burke, you are mistaken."

"No, Neal, I'm not. It's yours."

"I'm not a dragon. Excuse me, I'm not _Kin_." 

Peter couldn't lie, he couldn't dissemble or deflect. Not about this, it was too important. Peter pulled another scale from Neal's greasy curls and placed it on the table. "Yes, Neal, you are."

Neal shook his head in denial, but he ran his fingers through his hair and more scales dropped out, hitting the table with sweet musical pings. "No, no – no. I'm not a dragon. I can't be."

Neal's denial of the obvious would have been amusing if it wasn't going to present so many problems for both of them.

"But you are." Peter pulled out his cell phone and called up the brief video that the prison gate cameras had captured. It was the moment when Halbend had grabbed Neal as he was trying to leave, the moment that Neal began to transform. It ran through the seconds where Halbend pulled out the No-Flight hypo-pen and injected it into Neal. And Neal, half-transformed, collapsed onto the ground and returned to his Human form. A total of forty-five seconds.

He showed it to Neal and watched his expression intently. Neal played the video over and over and over again, saying nothing.

Finally, he handed the phone back to him and took a deep breath. "I'd keep insisting that I'm not a dragon but that's me. That's exactly what I remember, up to the moment when that prick Halbend grabbed me. After that, I remember nothing." Neal paused, and then reconsidered. "Wait – I remember waking up once – I was chained down and I remember trying to get free. I think I almost did, but maybe I was drugged? Or maybe that was just a nightmare. I don't know." Neal scrubbed at his face. "It's all very confusing."

"You were given at least three doses of No-Flight." Peter didn't tell Neal that so much of the drug should have left him incapacitated for days.

"So I am a dragon." Neal didn't sound upset. He sounded thoughtful. "Sorry, Kin."

"Actually, it's Dracon."

"That's what I said before and you corrected me, dragon."

"No, Dracon." This time, Peter put a slight guttural emphasis on the hard consonants and the lights flickered. 

Neal tried to repeat the word and he got the sounds correct, but the lights stayed on. 

Peter smiled at Neal's disappointed expression. "You'll learn, soon enough."

"So, what happens now? You said something about getting another four years for the escape attempt."

"Actually, you said that. I neither confirmed nor denied it."

Neal chuckled. "Right, right. I need to watch myself with you, Agent Burke."

Peter relaxed, buoyed by Neal's apparent acceptance of the situation. "You've still got three months to go on your original sentence. That's time you'll have to serve, regardless."

"And after that?"

"I can't make any promises, Neal. You broke some pretty important rules."

"I had to get Kate back!" That outburst seemed almost involuntary, and Neal clamped his mouth shut.

"I understand that."

"You do?"

"Yeah, Neal – I do." Peter sighed and had a brief debate with himself about what to tell Neal. Kate was Neal's – she was part of his hoard and his urge to reclaim her was as instinctive as breathing. Except that Kate was not who she seemed to be. Peter remembered the expression on her face – just a flicker of smug satisfaction. She knew what Neal was, even though he hadn't. She was after something and Peter was afraid that Neal would get hurt in the process. But if he told Neal what she was, Neal would fight him tooth and claw. He wouldn't believe him and things would get messy.

No, messier.

So he kept it simple. "She's your girlfriend, you've been together for a long time."

Neal ducked his head. "Yeah – and after everything, after so many years of this, she just walked away. I don't know why. Three months to go and she couldn't wait?"

Peter stifled the urge to comfort Neal, his grief was so understandable. "Women, they're fickle creatures."

"Even Dracons?"

"The plural is 'Draconis', and yeah."

Neal muttered the new word, as if he was testing the flavor of it. "You're not married, are you, Agent Burke?"

Peter chuckled at the non-sequitur. "Nope."

Neal chuckled, too. "Didn't think so." 

"Why not?" Peter was eventually going to have to explain that their kind didn't hold with too many Human conventions, like marriage. But that was a conversation for another day.

"If you were married, I doubt your wife would have let you out of the house in that suit. It's the same one you wore the last time you arrested me."

Peter shook his head at the bizarre turn of this conversation, but he plucked at the lapel, a touch hurt at the criticism. "Classics never go out of style."

"No matter what you say, Peter, that's not a classic. It's just ugly."

Something jolted in him – he hadn't expected to hear Neal utter his name so casually. At least not at this juncture. Names – even the Human-ish ones the Draconis adopted – had a certain amount of power.

"So what happens now?"

"Like I said, you're back inside for the rest of your original sentence. After that, we'll see."

Neal's expression took on a bitter cast. "I'm stuck, aren't I? I did this to myself."

Peter sighed and took pity on Neal. He carefully swept the loose scales off the folder and into his jacket pocket, and opened it again. Not to Kate's photo, but to a picture of a black plastic cuff. 

"A tracking anklet?"

"Not quite. You're a …" Peter grimaced and tried to find the right word. "A danger to yourself and to the Humans. To some Draconis, you're a threat. This will help you learn control."

Neal looked appalled. "You want to put a shock collar on me?"

Peter kept his voice low – soft-skins didn't know about these things and he didn't want them to learn of their existence from him. "No – not in the least. It will disrupts your ability to shift between forms. It won't hurt you." Frankly, Peter hated these things, but it was better than forcing No-Flight on Neal until he went mad. Or died. "And yes, there's a GPS tracking component in it. If I can get you out of here, you'll be wearing one of these."

"For the rest of my life?"

"No – a couple of years at the most. Until you learn control."

Neal seemed skeptical. "But if I can't transform while I'm wearing this, how will I ever learn control?"

"Good question. But you won't be wearing it all the time. It's a precaution."

"It's a shackle."

"You could also spend the next forty years in an underground, Dracon-proof facility. You won't see the light of day for a very long time." Peter hoped Neal wouldn't see the threat for what it was – meaningless. There was no way that Neal was going anyplace except where Peter wanted him to go. The glass wall vibrated minutely and he stifled the possessive urge. Thankfully, Neal didn't notice.

"Okay. I think I can live with that."

"You really don't have much of a choice." 

"What aren't you telling me, Agent Burke?"

_A lot_.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter seemed to command quite a bit of power here in Sing-Sing.

He gestured towards the window and a guard came in with a tray of food. Not the carbohydrate-laden slop that the prisoners were fed, but something that looked freshly cooked, with plenty of vegetables and a perfectly done piece of salmon. Moz might complain that there was no wine, but the aroma reminded Neal that he hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday. He'd been too nervous last night and this morning.

"Eat."

Neal didn't need to be told twice. He dove into the food, but after three mouthfuls, he felt ill and swallowed hard against the sudden nausea. Peter must have noticed – he opened the bottle of water that had accompanied the meal and handed it to him. "Small sips."

Neal complied and the nausea receded. 

"Go a little slower. You need to eat and get the No-Flight out of your system. It'll take a few days before it's all gone, but eating will help purge the toxin."

"Okay." He took another bite and swallowed cautiously. His stomach didn't rebel this time. And then another small bite. Still okay, but unwilling to push his luck, Neal pushed the tray aside.

Peter pushed it back. "Like I said, you need to eat."

Neal picked up the fork again but, in a delaying tactic, asked, "Did you ever take that stuff?"

"Yeah. It's part of every Dracon's FBI training. We need to know what it feels like."

Neal thought Peter's expression was very interesting – a touch of fear and a whole lot of disgust. "I guess that makes sense. Is there any way to combat it?"

Peter shook his head minutely and flicked his eyes towards the glass wall. Neal immediately understood. There were some things that couldn't be discussed here.

"Finish your food."

He did, eating every last morsel under Peter's watchful eye. All too soon, Peter signaled again and a guard, Bobby, came in. Not to bring him tiramisu or a crème brûlée, but to take him back to his cell.

Peter stopped them, pulling Bobby to one side, and Neal strained to hear the conversation. The words were indistinguishable, but watching the two of them in the reflecting glass, Neal could tell that Peter was giving Bobby some very strict instructions. Bobby nodded and smiled and when Peter held out his hand, Bobby took it and his grin grew that much broader.

Neal, however, knew better than to smile. But he had to wonder just how much Peter was paying for his protection. He was vain enough to hope it was a lot.

His cell, of course, had been stripped of all the creature comforts he'd hoarded for himself over the years. There were bits of tape with the remnants of Leonardo's equestrian study he'd copied from memory, a nail hole where he'd hung up a Russian icon. They'd taken the icon _and_ the nail. His books were gone, too. The only thing left behind was the marker he'd used to cross off the days of his sentence.

Neal tried to tell himself that it was just three more months. Ninety days and then he'd be out of here. He'd be free to go find Kate and get her back. 

And then Neal remembered the tracker – the thing Peter was going to put on him. He couldn't imagine that it was going to be all that hard to get out of. He was a _dragon_ and he'd be able to go anywhere.

Then he stopped cold. A dragon. _Kin_. _Dracon._ The idea of it was almost unbelievable. He had so many questions and the only person he knew that could provide answers was Peter Burke. If he disappeared, he'd never get the answers to those questions.

The hours passed slowly, with nothing to read, nothing to do. When Bobby had taken him back to his cell and locked him in, he gave him some pretty bad news. "You're on lockdown, Neal. Sorry. You're in your cell twenty-four hours a day."

Neal said nothing. It was actually better than he'd expected. He thought that he'd be sent to the SHU – the segregated housing unit – where prisoners were kept in solitary. Solid walls, no bars, no windows, no contact with anyone else. At least in his cell here, he could see the world coming and going, he could talk to people. He'd go mad if he was kept in isolation.

Again, he wondered just what this special treatment was costing Agent Burke.

He sat at the little desk in his cell and waited for this day to end. The crackle of a guard's radio broke the silence. _"Light's out. Shut 'em down."_

Bobby shuffled by. "Neal, gotta turn that off."

"Can I get one more minute, Bobby?" Not that he needed it for anything.

Bobby gave him the minute.

"Is it midnight yet?"

"Yeah, Neal – it's midnight."

So this day was finally over. He made his tally mark and hoped like hell that Peter Burke would keep his promise, that when these last three months were up, he'd be out of here.

The next morning brought the return of horrible prison food, and in the afternoon, a visit from Warden Haskley and a strange gift from Peter.

Haskley was, suffice to say, furious. He'd trusted Neal and Neal had repaid that trust by stealing his wife's American Express card to buy the guard uniform. Neal could understand that anger. But there was something else in his eyes, something that gave Neal, who had always considered the warden to be as harmless as he was stupid, pause.

Bobby wasn't on shift today. Another guard, Leroy, who was – of all things – Bobby's brother and as decent a man as they came, was in his cell with the warden and Halbend, the guard who had stopped him just before he made it freedom. Haskley ordered Leroy to grab Neal's leg and hold him. Halbend knelt, took hold of Neal's left ankle and pulled up his pants before taking the black plastic cuff that Haskley handed him. He locked it around Neal's ankle. Neal felt something – an electronic pulse that lasted for a heartbeat. A little green light came on and Halbend stood up and wiped his hands on his uniform shirt, a disgusted look on his face. Before yesterday, the guard never let an opportunity pass when he could touch him. 

Haskley and Halbend left the cell, but Halbend turned back and spat on the floor, muttering, "Filthy dragon."

Leroy sighed as he let go of Neal. "Sorry about that."

Neal understood. "It's okay. Orders are orders."

"Yeah. You've got some powerful friends, though. They want you to stay safe." Leroy nodded at the tracker. "That thing's going to go a long way to make sure of that."

Neal lifted his leg and looked at it, slightly disgusted. He'd hoped he would have a few months before they shackled him. "I don't guess I have too many choices."

"No, man, you don't." Leroy was about to leave, but he turned back. "Almost forgot, this arrived for you today. Special FBI courier." Leroy tossed a package on the table and left Neal's cell, locking the bars behind him.

Neal pounced on the package – he couldn't imagine what Peter would be sending him. It felt like a book. As he opened it, Neal wondered if it was an instruction manual for people who discovered they were dragons. _Draconis_.

But it wasn't.

It was an old puzzle book, circa 2000 – the "Best of New York Times Sunday Crosswords". A mechanical pencil was clipped to the front cover. Neal mentally thanked Peter for the bizarre, yet thoughtful gift until he turned to the first puzzle. It was completed. So was the next, and the one after that. Neal looked through the whole book and saw that almost all of the puzzles were completed. Those that weren't finished had only a handful of clues unanswered. Why would Peter send him this? He turned it over and shook it, hoping that a message would fall out. But nothing. He checked the flyleaf, and Neal laughed. It said _Property of Peter Burke_. So very typical.

But nothing else.

Neal was about to toss the book aside, but he couldn't. Peter wouldn't send him something so meaningless. He sat at the desk and started looking at the puzzles.

And smiled.

Peter was clearly a consummate crossword puzzle solver – he used a pen and he rarely seemed to make a mistake. His writing was bold and confident, so much like the Dracon himself. Neal wondered if Peter enjoyed the challenge of solving a puzzle or the satisfaction in completing it – how hard could the clues be when you were so old?

But that wasn't why he was smiling. Next to a clue in the first puzzle, 23-Down – "A 'Lost Man'? – 7 letters" was a penciled tick mark. And sure enough, in the answer, "Godfrey," there was a corresponding dot next to the letter "D".

Almost every puzzle had those tick marks and most had a couple. It took the best part of two days before Neal was certain he got all of the letters. Of course, the letters still needed to be decoded and it was a three days before Neal was ready to give up.

That's when the next book of crossword puzzles arrived. This time, the book was new, but there were some tick marks on the title page. A few digits in the Library of Congress catalog number were underlined and crossed out.

This was the key to decoding the message.

A few days later, Neal had a complete letter from Peter Burke, sans punctuation.

_neal you are in a very precarious position right now hfho has a strong presence in the prison administrative structure i suspect that haskley is part of the group and I am positive that halbend is too trust only bobby and leroy they are kin whatever you do dont try to transform the anklet will keep you from making the physical change but there will be other effects control your emotions keep safe be patient just hold on for a little while longer im doing everything i can to protect you but you have to obey me destroy this message_

Neal read the words over and over again, strangely warmed by Peter's concern. No one, not Kate, not Mozzie, certainly not his parents, had ever looked out for him quite like this. Of course, it was because he was Kin, and Peter's interest in him was probably due to the Dracon blood. But still, he couldn't dismiss the feelings that Peter's message caused.

Bobby had given him an old legal pad the day after Peter's first present had arrived and Neal had used that as his workbook while he was trying to decode the message. Even though he never left his cell, that didn't mean that his cell couldn't be tossed and the paper confiscated. He'd hidden each day's efforts in various parts of his cell, but had sweated through at least two "inspections". The message complete, he tore the paper into confetti and flushed it away.

At least he had the new book of crossword puzzles to keep his mind occupied.


	5. Hard Truths

Hughes knew the moment that Peter stepped back into the building. The very girders vibrated with the Dracon's satisfaction. He still worried about Peter's control and if there was some way to force the issue, he'd insist that Peter take a leave of absence for at least a month.

But not with the Caffrey situation. And even the thought of that still had the power to amaze him. He'd let Peter investigate the original bond forgeries – it made sense, given Peter's own financial interest. Putting another Dracon on the case might have led to some interesting territorial arguments. The Humans in D.C. still had nightmares about what happened between Peter and Ruiz a few years back. Hell, he did, too.

The bond forger led Peter on a very merry chase for a while. Hughes knew just how much Peter enjoyed it and he knew how much it hurt him to let Caffrey go to prison. In another time, another country, Peter would have claimed Caffrey as his own, locked him away, and protected him against all challenges.

But Peter had taken an oath to put Human justice before his instinctive need to hoard and protect what he deemed _his_.

And then David Siegel arrived on the scene and at first, Hughes was pleased. David was a better focus for Peter's Dracon needs, if for the simple fact that he wasn't a criminal. But a few weeks after Siegel joined the White Collar team, Hughes started to have his doubts, but he kept those thoughts to himself. He knew that Peter had a blind spot when it came to the young Human, not surprising since he'd made him part of his hoard. But Hughes had done a little digging. David Siegel had certain associations that were not wholly compatible with the Dracon-controlled FBI.

When the agent was found dead on a sidewalk in a seedy neighborhood in Brooklyn, Hughes was a touch relieved. It saved him the effort of eliminating Siegel himself, his oath to the FBI notwithstanding.

He knew that David's death hurt Peter, but he hadn't expected how it would shatter his old friend. Three years was too long a time to live with Peter's barely muted grief over someone who probably didn't deserve the honors that Peter had bestowed upon him. He'd kept quiet as long as he could, until his friend's roiling emotions began affecting the entire office. Putting Peter on leave wasn't the best solution, but it seemed the only choice he had. 

At least until Berrigan walked in with the news about Caffrey.

It was well after ten o'clock and alone in the office, Hughes waited for Peter on the balcony overlooking the vacant bullpen. He could feel him as the elevator approached the twenty-first floor. A chime announced the car's arrival and Peter's satisfaction swamped the floor like a tidal wave. 

Yes, Peter was going to need to work on his control, but at least he was happy again.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When he got back to the office, Peter briefed Hughes in detail. They sat in Hughes' office and shared a well-earned drink.

"Caffrey is definitely Dracon." He fished out one of Neal's scales from his pocket and with visible reluctance, gave it to Hughes to examine.

The Dracon held the scale up to the light. "Hmmm. Interesting colors. Haven't seen this shade of blue since before the last War. They were on the losing side." 

"I know. Maybe that's why we knew nothing about Caffrey, why we can find no mention of his line in the Book of Fire." Peter shook his head, intrigued by the mystery. "And you'd think there'd be some survivors, some mention. Even half-bloods are documented." 

Hughes snorted, "You would think that, but you know just how complex Dracon politics are. It's possible that the Kin who maintain the Book of Fire aren't as neutral as they should be."

"As the soft-skins say, the history books are written by the winners."

"Exactly."

Peter held out his hand and Hughes returned the scale with a bit of a smirk. "Caffrey's okay? No lasting damage from the No-Flight?"

"He seems to have recovered remarkably well." Peter grimaced. "A little too well. Three doses of No-Flight but he was up and walking in a few hours. And talking, and if I had let down my guard, he would have been three steps ahead of me."

Hughes sighed. "That's troubling. With that much No-Flight in his system, he should have been unconscious for a few days."

"You're right. I wish I hadn't rushed out of here this afternoon. I wasn't thinking. I should have taken an anklet with me."

Hughes resolved him of his misstep. "You know those things are always iffy propositions – they work better as a threat than anything."

"I know that, but I called in a requisition on the drive back anyway. The Kin I spoke to said one would be delivered to the prison tomorrow. She couldn't manage it any sooner."

"You're not going to put it on him yourself?"

"No, it's best I don't keep showing up there."

Hughes nodded. "By the way, how did you convince the warden not to have Caffrey transferred to a more Dracon-proof facility?"

Peter laughed, but he wasn't really all that amused. "There's something unpleasant going on there and I think the warden's up to his neck in it."

"Unpleasant?"

"HFHO. The guard who caught Neal stank of hatred and while I first thought Haskley was a clueless idiot, by the time I finished, my gut was telling me that he's involved, too."

"So, what did you do?"

"Threatened to turn his cozy little empire upside down. As long as Caffrey stays on lockdown in his currently assigned cell until the end of his sentence, and he stays safe, I won't start a Federal investigation into the drug trafficking I witnessed between the guards and the prisoners."

Hughes laughed. "And did you witness any such trafficking?"

Peter grinned. If he were in his Dracon form, he might have actually let a stream of smoke puff from his nostrils. "What do you think?" 

"So the warden, Haskley, caved?"

"Like a house of cards. He doesn't want anyone poking around, and certainly not Kin. Haskley will put the anklet on Neal. I told him it's a status monitor and that we'll know immediately if Caffrey's moved or if he's harmed in any way."

"But wasn't he concerned that Caffrey would just try to transform?"

Peter sighed, knowing that this was a big hole in his plan. "I told him that Caffrey couldn't change, not in the close confines of his cell – it would kill him. And that the remnants of the No-Flight would make it almost impossible for a few weeks, if not longer."

"Plausible."

"And complete lies. Neal doesn't know what he is. _We_ aren't really sure what he is. And until he's done with his sentence, we're not going to find out."

"You're sure you want to take this on?"

Peter nodded. "Caffrey's mine."

"It's not going to be as easy as that, you know."

"I know."

"He's going to fight you, tooth and claw. You prepared for that?"

"Of course."

"It could mean the end of your career here."

Peter shrugged. "Caffrey's Kin. That's what's important."

"Don't let the soft-skins hear you say that."

Peter snorted. "Of course not." He got up and stretched. It had been a very long day. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

Peter went home, but he couldn't relax. His gut was still twitching about the situation at Sing-Sing. It didn't take much research to discover just how deeply HFHO was embedded within the prison administration. It seemed that Haskley wasn't quite the ineffectual boob he'd appeared to be. According to Hatewatch, he was a fairly high-ranking member of the pro-Human hate group, stopping just short of advocating all-out war against the Draconis.

Until he could get him out of Sing-Sing, Neal was at risk. There were Kin amongst the guards and Peter made certain they knew about his claim and would protect Caffrey. 

Shortly after he got to the office the next morning, Peter was notified that the anklet he'd ordered would be delivered within the hour. Peter was relieved, he figured that Neal would try to transform, and as soon as the No-Flight was out of his system, he just might succeed. The tracker would give him a constant status of Neal's well-being. The soft-skins might not know what the tracker's primary purpose was, but it would make his claim on Neal obvious. Even HFHO adherents would be reluctant to interfere with a Dracon's hoard.

Stifling a yawn, Peter gave thanks to the soft-skins who had discovered the wonders of coffee. Peter knew well from all the years of chasing him that Neal shared his love for puzzles and codes and has stayed up for most of the night setting up the game for Neal. He needed to keep this young Dracon occupied as much as possible and didn't want him obsessing over Kate or getting into trouble because he was bored. He also needed a way to communicate with Neal without the Humans learning.

The message he sent; however, was deadly serious.

"Peter?" Clinton interrupted his musings.

"Yes?"

"I have the information you wanted on Kate Moreau. We were able to track her movements for the past three years."

"Find anything interesting?"

Clinton handed him the folder. "Yeah, very."

Peter was a bit startled by the intensity in the young Dracon's tone and he opened the folder. Since Neal had been convicted and sent to prison, Kate Moreau had been employed as a server at the Blue Ground Cafe on Linden Boulevard in Brooklyn. She lived three blocks away from the coffee shop, on the third floor of the Cooper Building, a grandiose name for an old office building that had been overlooked by the wave of gentrification that had overtaken most of Brooklyn.

Peter knew the neighborhood all too well. David Siegel had been found dead just a block away from there.

The coincidence sent his gut churning. No, he didn't like Kate Moreau. He hadn't liked her when he used her as a stalking horse to capture Neal, and he liked her even less knowing the claim she seemed to have on Neal's soul. Seeing her reaction to Neal's outburst in the prison video had cemented that dislike.

Clinton was still standing there, but he looked like he wanted to bolt.

"What do you think?"

Clinton shook his head. "I don't like the coincidence, but how can it be anything but a coincidence? Nothing we know about David Siegel would suggest that he knew Neal's girlfriend."

Peter tapped the folder. "This makes me uncomfortable."

"And your discomfort is not healthy for any of us."

Peter had to laugh. "I'm okay."

Clinton grimaced, as if that was debatable. "Do you want me to check this out?"

"Yeah, but don't go alone and if Kate's there, make sure she doesn't see you. Chances are she might recognize you." Clinton had been the one to slap the cuffs on Neal that last day.

"I'll take Diana with me."

"Good choice. And both of you be careful."

"We'll be as careful as you'd be."

"And that's what worries me." Peter shooed Clinton out of his office with a laugh and watched as he corralled Diana and then headed out.

But this tenuous connection between Kate Moreau and David Siegel's death was no laughing matter. He was about to check a very particular database when Hughes came into his office. The Dracon hadn't bothered to knock.

"Reese?"

"I'm shutting you down, Peter."

He blinked in confusion. "Shutting me down? What do you mean?"

"You're digging into Kate Moreau. You need to stop."

"Why?" 

"Isn't it enough that I'm asking you to?"

"Frankly, no. Kate works and lives a few blocks from where David was killed. I know the odds are slim, but she might be involved." 

"The odds are more than very slim. I'd say they're non-existent. You can't afford to be distracted by this old business, Peter."

His friend's words made sense, but Peter could hear what wasn't being said. The lies of omission were making his scales rattle. "Caffrey won't be out for another three months, Reese. A lot can happen between now and then."

"I know, and I also know that you are going to be walking a very fine line with Caffrey. He's Dracon and has to be treated as such. You can't just stamp "mine" on his backside and expect everyone to acknowledge your claim."

Peter knew that. "And that's why I'm looking into Kate Moreau. She has a very strong hold on him – I can't break it if I don't understand it."

Hughes shook his head. "Kate Moreau is a non-issue at this point. What's important are your responsibilities to your clan and to this new Kin. He will need protection and training. Caffrey's never been good with rules and laws and that anklet won't contain him forever."

"I know that, but – "

Hughes held up a hand, forestalling his next words. "No buts, Peter. You need to go see Elizabeth and get her permission for your intentions. And you need to come up with a working plan for Caffrey. Dicking around about Kate Moreau is a waste of time and resources."

Peter didn't agree, but he could no more disobey Hughes than he could transform himself into a fluffy bunny. "If I go see Elizabeth, I'll be gone for the better part of a week. She'll want the whole deal from me."

"I know that. It's her right and you do owe her."

Peter knew just what he owed Elizabeth and it was a duty he never minded fulfilling, but with Neal in jeopardy, he didn't want the distraction of a mating flight. 

But he didn't have a choice, it seemed. Hughes continued, "Remember, Peter, a few days ago, you were about to head out for a month's leave. The only thing that's different now is you've got Caffrey to consider. I'll take care of your caseload."

Peter sighed, unable to disagree, but still too unwilling to give in.

"I called Elizabeth. She's expecting you for dinner, so you'd better get going."


	6. Freedom, Of a Dubious Kind

The last three months of his sentence were probably the worst three months of his life, the time between his arrest and trial notwithstanding. This time, it wasn't the boredom, but the fear that was getting to him. Some of the guards – all in Halbend's crew – had taken to stalking his cell, rattling the bars with their nightsticks, fouling his food. Bobby and Leroy did the best they could, but they couldn't stand guard on him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Every week, Peter sent him something. The first package was always a filled-in crossword puzzle book, and Neal had to wonder if Peter kept every one that he ever owned. And then realized that it was quite likely that he did. He was Dracon, and hoarding was his nature. But wouldn't that mean he wouldn't want to part with them, either?

That question bothered Neal enough to make certain he did nothing to damage the books, just in case a very old, very powerful Dracon wanted them back.

Of course, each of the old puzzle books contained a message for him, and another book that arrived later in the week would have the key to the code. The messages were pretty much identical – don't try to transform, stay safe, watch your back, trust only Bobby and Leroy. If there was a problem, be discreet and let them know, they'd get a message to him.

The books arrived like clockwork on Mondays and Thursdays, every week. Neal kept counting down the days and as time grew short, he kept imagining some disaster. That some judge or prison official would decide that his escape attempt warranted additional prison time, or Peter decided that he was too dangerous to be let free – anklet notwithstanding. He was terrified that he was going to be spending the rest of the foreseeable future in some stone cage.

The last week came, and with it another filled in crossword puzzle book, but this time, Peter had marked out the cypher key in the catalog numbers on the title page. The message was brief, but maybe the most important one of all.

_lll be there on thursday bring all the books looking forward to seeing you we have a lot of work to do it will be fun_

_Fun._ Neal wasn't quite sure what Draconis thought was fun, but he was willing to give it a shot, if it meant staying out of prison and having a chance to find Kate.

Finally, _finally_ , it was Thursday morning and Bobby came to take him down for his exit processing. Neal could feel the eyes of all of the convicts on him. Some were filled with hate, but most were just curious. A few even seemed happy for him. At least there was no sign of Haskley or Halbend and his crew.

The clerk gave him a clipboard with papers to sign and Neal didn't bother to read them. He pushed a bag with his clothes across the counter and Bobby blocked the clerk's view as Neal shed the hated prison orange for the very last time. He was pissed, though. He'd arrived at Sing-Sing in a hand-tailored suit and a custom made shirt. The suit jacket and shirt were gone, replaced by – of all things – a worn peacoat. At least his underwear and shoes were still there, but his socks were missing.

He'd have raised a stink, but some things weren't worth arguing about.

Bobby walked him right up to the prison gate. Despite the wintery chill in the air, Neal was sweating. Last time he had been here, everything had changed. And now, if that damned door ever opened, everything would change again.

The iron door finally opened and Neal stepped over the threshold. He was free. The sky was blue. Kate was out there, somewhere.

And Agent Peter Burke was waiting for him, leaning against a black Government-issued sedan, gold shield on his hip, and looking a hell of a lot sterner than Neal remembered from their meeting three months ago.

There was something dark and uncomfortable in Peter's eyes that told Neal that he was sailing into uncharted waters.

"Let me see it." Peter tilted his head towards Neal's leg.

Neal lifted the cuff of his pants, displaying the tracker.

"You understand how this works?"

"No, not really. I'm not really sure of anything."

Peter shook his head and gestured for him to get into the car. "You're being released into my custody."

"Not the FBI's?"

"No, mine." Peter didn't provide any further elaboration.

Neal wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "You said something about having fun. This thing chafes my leg, by the way."

"You'll get used to it. And yes, we will have fun. You're going to work for me."

"At the FBI?"

"Yup." Peter flashed his badge at the guard in the booth and as they passed through the final prison gate, Neal let go of the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. 

"How is that possible?"

"What?"

"Me working for you – I'm not exactly Special Agent material."

"No, not quite, but you'll make an excellent consultant."

Neal wasn't quite sure what he'd be consulting on, but he had to figure it would have something to do with white collar crime. "I know nothing about mortgage fraud."

"You'll learn. You'll also learn what it means to be Dracon."

Neal nodded.

They drove in silence for a while and Neal enjoyed the scenery. It had been a long time since he'd seen trees and birds and the river.

They were on the Taconic, heading south, when Peter broke the silence. "You'll be tempted to look for Kate. Don't."

Neal opened his mouth to deny his plans, but found he couldn't make the lie come out.

"And if you run and I catch you, and you know that I will, you're going to be spending a very long time in an underground stone cage. If you thought the last four years were difficult, the next forty will be unendurable."

"I won't run. Kate said goodbye, she meant it."

"And yet you tried to break out of prison to get to her."

"I won't make that mistake again."

"Good."

Neal leaned back against the headrest and let the flickering autumn light transport him back to happier days. He must have dozed off, because the next thing he realized was that the car had stopped moving and Peter had opened the door. "Where are we?"

"Your new home."

Neal got out and looked up. "You've got to be kidding me." He was staring at a magnificent four story beaux-arts mansion. "You have to have the wrong address."

He turned to Peter and the bastard was actually smiling at him. "No, I haven't. This place belongs to a friend of mine. You'll have your own space, some hand-me-downs, and a few chores to do to earn your keep."

"Chores?" That was the only question Neal could think to ask.

"Yeah. Wash the Jag, watch her granddaughters, help out with the light maintenance."

"Okay. I can do that." Neal was still reeling as Peter steered him up the front steps and rang the bell. A maid, who was clearly expecting them, opened the door and gestured for them to come inside.

A beautiful woman in a fur-collared suit and carrying a small dog walked into the parlor. "You must be Neal." 

Neal continued to gape. 

Peter made the introductions. "This is June Ellington. She and I go way back."

The woman gave Peter a mysterious smile. "At least a century, maybe more?"

Peter smiled back and his whole face was transformed. Neal was stunned and aroused.

But Peter lost the smile when he turned to Neal. "June is Dracon. She is not FBI. You piss her off, she'll eat you. And I'm not speaking metaphorically." 

Neal nodded, cowed. 

"Come, let me show you your new home." June headed up the stairs, which surprised Neal. He figured he'd have a "garden" apartment – something in the basement. But apparently not. They followed her up four flights and June opened the door and stepped aside.

The apartment was airy and filled with sunlight. There was a small kitchen and a bedroom area. Although his most recent accommodations could have fit in here ten times over, it wasn't very large. Just the right size for a single man with no possessions. But it was the balcony that most attracted Neal's attention.

Ignoring June, ignoring Peter, Neal went outside and simply reveled in the space. The city skyline and all its wonders beckoned.

The sound of a chair scraping against stone distracted him. Peter was sitting at the small table and he gestured for Neal to join him. There was no sign of June.

"Don't think you're going to flirt and smile your way out of this, Neal. You will find that you and June have a lot in common, but she's also impervious to your brand of charm. Your anklet is set for a two mile radius. You cross the line, I'll be all over you like a bad smell, and that's the last thing you'll want. You follow my orders, I'll be happy to give you privileges. But this partnership depends on your obedience."

Peter seemed too deadly serious for Neal to start challenging – at least right now. "How long?"

"What do you mean?"

"How long will our partnership last?"

Peter tilted his head and Neal got the feeling that he'd never contemplated that question. "How does four years sound?"

It seemed reasonable. "Do I have a choice?"

"You do, but I don't think you'll like the other options."

Neal nodded, trying to understand everything that Peter wasn't saying. "So, let me get this straight. You own me, for the next four years."

Peter smiled and again, Neal was struck by a very inappropriate arrow of desire. "You okay with that?"

He took a deep breath and simply said, "Yes."

__

FIN


End file.
